Luck in the New Year
by The Croc Shop
Summary: New Year's Eve is nearly over and Naveen can't find Tiana anywhere.


Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _The Princess and the Frog._ This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

Happy (Gregorian) New Year's! Now is the time to party, and post fanfiction. The classic celebrations!

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**Luck in the New Year**

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The evening advanced, as it must; already the eleven o'clock hour was well under hand. 1927 crept inexorably near.

Naveen pulled the terrace doors shut behind him and after a final word with the waiter left to guard them, he set out. Down in the great room the party pressed on, the tables long since cleared, then set aside to make room for dancing. The revelers whirled in a haze of bright skirts and flashing jackets. On the stage, swinging beneath the spotlight, Louis and his Firefly Five blazed through a rendition of Sweet Georgia Brown, digressing here and improvising there.

He made his way through the crowd, sticking mostly to the edges, though his feet itched. There would be dancing later. He tapped the beat out against his hip as he looked the crowd over. Charlotte, of course, he could not miss, so energetically did she drag a young officer across the floor, and dancing close together in the far corner he saw Georgia and her beau, Beau.

Mr LaBouff, talking shop with one of the many local politicians whose names Naveen could not recall, waved him over. The politician excused himself with a bow. Naveen smiled vaguely after him.

"Fine party!" said Mr LaBouff, beaming. Naveen took his hand and shook it once. "You tell Tiana she's done a bang-up job here tonight."

"Yes, yes, of course," said Naveen. He studied the crowd, which shifted, parting and then coming together once more. "You have not seen her, by any chance? She has hidden herself very well."

"I'm afraid not, my boy," said Mr LaBouff, "but she's around, no doubt about that." He tipped his champagne glass toward the stage, where Louis stomped in time with his horn. "Might ask that gator of yours. He's got the best vantage point in the house." He lowered his voice. "Hoping to, ah, net yourself a new year's kiss, are you?"

"A gentleman never tells," said Naveen.

Mr LaBouff laughed and clapped his shoulder. "If I find her, I'll let her know you're looking for her."

"Thank you, you are so kind," said Naveen. "Please tell her to meet me at the balcony, but she is to wait for me there and not to go through the doors."

"You're cutting it close, my boy!" Mr LaBouff called after him, as if Naveen did not already know.

He skirted the swirling cloud of dancers, then cut through the last few as he made his way to the stage. "Louis!" he said and he said it again.

Louis played on, his horn singing loud and sassy. He pivoted hard on his leg, trumpeting into the crowd.

"Louis!" Naveen shouted. "Can you hear me, Louis! Hello! Louis!"

This last broke through, in a fleeting pause in the music, as Louis drew breath and the drummer stilled a wavering cymbal. Louis held his trumpet to his mouth, but he turned to Naveen, his massive head tipped to one side.

Naveen cupped his hands around his mouth and said, punctuating the pauses between each note Louis blew with another word: "Where - is - Tiana?"

Louis shrugged; his massive shoulders tumbled. He puffed out one long, apologetic note, then slid down low on his belly, pressing close. "You tried out back yet?"

Naveen shook his head. "No, she can't be out back, I was just there. I'll--" The music rose around them, spinning wilder and wilder, louder and louder, drowning him out. He shouted, "Thank you, Louis! I will try elsewhere!"

Louis grinned, his snaggly teeth flashing white behind his horn. He belted six brassy notes and rolled back into the spotlight, his claws pumping on the keys, tail lashing across the stage behind him. The saxophonist, Terrence, leapt over it with the ease of long practice.

Naveen left Louis to his music and his band and the spotlight which shone upon him. Perhaps another tack; instead of a lookout, a monsoon. It wasn't difficult to find Charlotte. When she kicked up her heels, she did so with passion and very little concern for the shins of the dancers behind her, and so she danced in a small bubble, with only her adoring young officer for company.

"May I cut in?" said Naveen. He didn't wait for an answer, but took Charlotte's hands in his own and swept off with her.

"Henry, I won't be a moment!" Charlotte trilled over her shoulder. She threw Naveen a shrewd look. "I do hope you have a good reason for cutting in like that."

"But of course," he said. "To dance with such a ravishing young woman, is that not reason enough?"

"Prince Naveen, you are a married man," said Charlotte. "But I do look nice, don't I? I asked Tiana's mother if she wouldn't mind whipping a little thing together and that was just last week, but Miss Eudora is an absolute miracleworker and she--"

"Her fingers are filled with magic, yes," said Naveen, "and she is as dear to me as my own mother," which was true. He spun Charlotte twice around and caught her neatly in his arm. He dipped her. "I was wondering, Miss LaBouff, if you have seen my wife?"

Charlotte had, but that was just about two hours ago. "My!" she said, "how the time flies. When you see her, Naveen, darling, you tell her this is just the swingingest New Year's Eve party I've ever been to, it is the bona fide tops, and you kiss her on the cheek for me, all right, darling? If it's not too much trouble."

He brought her back to her young officer, who rose, eagerly, to meet them. "Miss LaBouff, I promise you this," said Naveen, "the kissing will be no trouble at all."

"Prince Naveen, you rascal," she cried. She slapped her fan against his shoulder and he slipped away, laughing at her outrage, thoroughly feigned.

Georgia hadn't seen Tiana, not for ages anyway, and neither had Beau. "Try the kitchen," Georgia suggested. She rolled her eyes, but her smile was affectionate. "You know how that girl is. Always working."

Naveen shook his head. "Ah, but not tonight," he told her. "She made a promise to me, that she would take the evening for herself."

"Well, you might should try anyway," said Georgia. "I mean, it is Tiana we're talking about here. It's, what time is it, Beau?"

"'Leven-forty," he said, checking his watch. He hitched his thumb in the direction of the kitchen. "Y'better hurry if you want to catch her before midnight."

"She won't be there," Naveen said, but off he went.

A waitress, Melanie, he thought, caught him around the wrist as he closed in on the swinging doors. "I wouldn't go in there if I was you," she said in her wobbling voice. "They're kicking up an awful fuss."

He shrugged, lackadaisacal. "Fuss is nothing new to me. But your warning is much appreciated," he said, winking as he passed her by. He parted the doors and pushed through from the great dining room into the kitchen proper.

The kitchen was warm, warmer even than the crowded floor outside, and the lights shockingly bright; he shielded his eyes. Near to the center of the room, Tiana stood nose to chin with Chef Desmarais, her teeth flashing, ruby drops jangling violently from her ears, and him shouting at her in French.

"What's this?" said Naveen, to the soup chef, Randall, who worried his hat in his hands.

"Mister Ganis!" he gasped. He fumbled his hat, catching it between his palms. "I mean, your highness. I mean, sir. They're fighting," he said, gesturing weakly.

"Yes, I can see," said Naveen. Desmarais spat an invective, a foul word, putrid. "And I can hear as well," Naveen said loudly, that Desmarais, too, might hear.

Tiana turned sharply, her earrings swinging wildly against her throat. The harsh lines of her face softened when she looked to Naveen, standing there at the door next to shrinking Randall, but her mouth thinned again when Desmarais muttered something low beneath his breath.

"You speak French," she said to Naveen. It wasn't a question. Nevertheless, he answered.

"Fluently," he said, stepping forward, "and also Arabic, and my father's tongue, and English, which you've probably noticed." He noted them on his fingers.

Tiana jerked her chin toward Desmarais, her jaw set at a hard angle. How beautiful his wife was in her anger, so cold and strong.

"Tell him this," she said, in a voice like ice, "in French, since he's forgotten his English. He is to stop changing my recipes. I respect innovation and I do not mind experimentation, but we are getting complaints and I have asked him repeatedly to stop. I will not have him going behind my back. This is my restaurant," she said, "and if he doesn't like it, he can find some other job to work."

"Wait, wait, give me a moment," said Naveen. "That's a lot to translate so quickly. But I will do it," he said, when she turned her sharp gaze on him.

Desmarais' face darkened as Naveen conveyed Tiana's ultimatum to him in terms as pleasant, but indisputable as he could. When he had finished this, Desmarais tore his hat off, threw it to the ground at Tiana's feet, and swore once.

"He says, why did you not say so?" said Naveen, diplomatic. "And he's quitting," he added, as Desmarais took off for the back door, his fists swinging like hammers at his sides. Tiana hissed through her teeth.

Naveen went to her.

"I tried being nice," she said to him, like she would a confession. "I was polite. I was understanding. I asked him kindly to stop what he was doing and I put up with him when he didn't, longer than I should've. But that man just--" She clamped her lips together. Her shoulders shuddered; her throat worked. Her hands clenched.

"I never liked him," said Naveen. He twirled his hand. "His gumbo, it was too mild. He yelled all the time, too, so it will be much quieter now that he's gone. More serene."

Tiana smiled at this. Her earrings shone against her skin, large crimson drops laced through with silver thread; when she moved, they trembled.

The clock on the near wall read ten till twelve.

Naveen took her gloved hand in his, the red cloth dark against his skin and smooth upon it. "Come with me," he said. "I have something to show you."

She looked at him askance, her eyebrow raised. "What is it?"

"What have I done to earn such suspicion?" he wondered. "It's a surprise." He took her other hand up and tugged lightly, drawing her with him. "Please. You must come with me. We would have more time," he said, "if you had not broken your promise."

She held his hands tightly. Her mouth softened. "I'm sorry, Naveen," she said. "But I didn't have much of a choice."

"I know," he said, rueful. "When your _Palace_ calls to you..." He shrugged. "You must answer. That's very admirable, that work ethic of yours. Very few people have it."

"You're one to talk," said Tiana, dry.

"I'm ignoring that," said Naveen. He pulled gently at her hands. "Come with me. Please," he said again.

She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and together they walked, her hand steady on his sleeve.

At the doors to the terrace, the waiter rose with her coat in hand. She thanked him and slipped her arms through the sleeves as Naveen counted the seconds out on his thigh, one finger tapping away.

"All right," she said, laughing. She straightened her collar and lifted her chin high, elaborate elegance personified. "I'm ready. Lead on, frog prince."

"I have to warn you," he said, "I didn't have much time to get everything ready." He pushed at the doors, turning them out into the cool winter night, which rushed up to greet them as Tiana took one step, then another out onto the terrace.

"Oh," she said. Her breath fell out, soft. "Naveen."

"I know," he said. He smiled at her back, the delicate slope of her shoulders, the red spangles woven into her hair. "It could be better. But I did what I could, so points for effort."

She turned to him, her dress fluttering: red silk, so thin as to be translucent, with sequins sewn up in the shape of roses, opening. Her shift slithered across her hips. In the glimmering light of the rows of white bulbs he had strung up, Tiana shone like a flame.

"Naveen," she said again. Whatever anger had clung to her was gone now or at least forgotten, set aside in favor of some quiet joy. "This is beautiful. When did you..." She ran her fingers across the tablecloth, thrown over the small table he'd nicked from the lounge. The candles flickered, guttering in the small wind blown up from the river. Their glow shivered across the dishes set out, the small flames reflecting off the silver, catching on the food.

"Just now," he said. "Well, not right now. A couple hours. It was nothing."

"It's wonderful," she said firmly, and that was that. She bent over the table, the spangles in her hair flickering like small, scarlet stars. "Did you cook this?"

"Ah, yes," he said. "It's a traditional dish in Maldonia. For good luck and happiness in the year to come. Usually it's served hot, but." He held his hands up.

"Well, it's certainly cold now," she said. Her smile flashed.

His chest ached, as if his heart had swollen and then stuck itself on a rib.

From out of the restaurant, Louis' horn sang: a sweet and trembling song to usher in the new year, come at last. Across the river, a clock sounded out the hour.

Tiana straightened. Her skirt shimmered around her knees; it shivered along her shins.

"You know," she said, "we got ourselves a new year's tradition here, too."

"And what would that be?" he said.

Five strokes and a sixth rang out, and Naveen stepped across the terrace to stand beside her. His shoes scuffed the stones. Tiana trickled her fingers up his shoulder; she pressed against him. Beneath her coat and the light cloth of her dress, she was warm and very soft. Her smile deepened.

"It goes something like this," she said.

Her mouth was warm, too, and her touch soft, and he held her through the last few strokes of midnight and into the first minute of the new year. Tiana sighed into his mouth. He stroked her jaw, his finger brushing her throat.

"We've a similar tradition in Maldonia," said Naveen. "I could show you later. Tell me," he said. "If we should kiss again, in this new year, would that be lucky, too?"

In the tremulous light, her eyes gleamed, brown and shot through with fire. "Can't hurt to try," she said. She kissed him once more, a light, fleeting kiss, and when that was finished, she touched her nose to his cheek and said, "Thank you."

"It was nothing," he said again.

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This story was originally posted at livejournal on 12/31/2009. In a moment of passing madness I went ahead and claimed Tiana/Naveen at the livejournal community **30_kisses**, which posits a challenge: to write one story for each of the thirty prompts provided, for the pairing which the author has claimed. This story was written for the prompt **red**.

Huge and frankly innumerable thanks are due to Rawles and livejournal user **llamrei** for their invaluable assistance as betareaders extraordinaire. You guys are the tops. Thank you.


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